Carmen's Ghost
by La Raconteuse
Summary: The Winchester brothers get a dose of culture as they investigate a haunted opera house. For LadyofSandwiches.
1. Chapter 1

"Let's take that from bar 57, see where I am? Great, ok." Ten singers sat in a crescent on the stage around the conductor and pianist. Some understudies were sitting in the audience, rifling feverishly through their scores and mouthing words and steadfastly following the conductor's baton. Beat, beat, beat, beat.

"L'amour! L'amour est enfant du Bohême-"

"Pst- Alex!" Alex snapped her gaze away from the conductor and turned to her understudy partner, Jasmine.

"What?"

"We don't need to be here, and I'm bored. Let's go hang out at the bar."

"Can't. Gotta be prepared. And I promised Rachel we'd hang after rehearsal," Alex whispered. Jasmine shrugged and carefully slid out of the row in which they were sitting. Alex sighed; well, at least she would be ready if she had to suddenly go onstage. As she turned back to the stage, Rachel caught her eye and winked. Alex grinned in response, and they both hurriedly buried their heads back in their scores. Alex was fiercely proud that Rachel had landed the lead soprano role, and Rachel was equally proud of Alex for her understudy role. In this business, you take what successes you can get.

"Je dis que rien ne m'épouvante. . ."Alex squealed silently in her head and clasped her hands together. She was biased, she knew, but Rachel's parts were her favorites. Man, this rehearsal was going by fast.

"Bien chanté, Micaëla!" Alex grinned and jokingly bumped Rachel with her hips. She laughed and replied, "Eh bien, merci, ma chère Mercèdés!"

"But you're really Micaëla. I'm like . . . Schrödinger's Mercèdés- I am her and I'm not, until real one either gets sick or doesn't during performance weekend."

"Ah, nerdery, you truly know the way to my heart." Wrapping their arms fondly around each others' shoulders, the two made their way toward the door.

"Hey Max, are you heading to the bar with everyone else? I mean, I don't even drink, but I could go for some wings or something," Rachel called over her shoulder.

"You guys go ahead; I think I lost my phone. See you in a bit."

"See you!"

Max frowned and put his hands on his hips. "Now where did I put you. . ." he murmured. He patted his pants pockets and coat pockets. Sighing, he jumped down from the stage and peered underneath the audience chairs.

_Maarr. . ._

Max jolted upright. He glanced around the theater, which was considerably dark with the houselights down. He shook his head and muttered, "Must be hearing things. Oh!" Max smacked his forehead, "The dressing room." While checking out his dressing room earlier, he'd been texting his girlfriend to let her know he'd arrived safely. He figured he'd absentmindedly put it on the makeup and wig counter.

"There you are! At this rate I might as well just end up going to the hotel to slee- YEESH!" Max staggered back. He could have sworn that just a second ago there had been a second face in the mirror. He took a few deep, shaky breaths and looked deep into the mirror. Shaking his head he sighed, "Yep. Definitely going back to the hotel." Max turned to leave- his eyes widened, the color drained from his face, and by the time he'd opened his mouth to scream, he could only gurgle through his own blood.

_Mar. . .gur. . . ite. . ._


	2. Chapter 2

"Sam! _Sam! _Have you seen these opera chicks? They're friggin' hot, man! Nothing fat or viking helmet about 'em!" Sam sighed exasperatedly; "Is that all you ever think about? We're here to investigate, and – so you know – EMF readings from the dead guy's dressing room are all over the place."

"Definitely one of ours, then," Dean nodded, "I'll just go and, ahem, do some questioning." Sam rolled his eyes and reluctantly trudged after him.

"Hi there, I'm Detective Charles Beaumont, and this is my partner, Emile Cheval," Dean reached out to shake hands with the two girls in front of him and discreetly winked at Sam, "We're investigating the death of Max Nolan and, if you wouldn't mind, we have a few questions."

"No, yeah, go ahead. Max was a pretty good friend of mine. I'm Alex, by the way," she added quickly, firmly grasping Dean's hand.

"We really appreciate your cooperation, Alex, and we're sorry for your loss," Sam said kindly. Pulling out his notepad, he asked, "Could you tell us a little about what happened the night he died? Was he acting strangely at all?" Alex shook her head emphatically, "No, that's what was weird! Everyone had left- see, a bunch of us have sung together before, in college or for other companies, and we just sort of had this tradition of hanging out at the closest bar. Anyway, he- he said he had forgotten his phone and he'd catch up with us once he'd found it."

"But he didn't show?" Dean asked.

"Well, yeah. But he'd just flown in from Pittsburgh the same morning, so, y'know, we thought he'd gone home to sleep." Alex rubbed her forehead and screwed up her eyes. "Jesus. . ." she muttered. Sam threw Dean a look that plainly said "enough".

"Uh, and you, miss . . . ?"

"Vanessa. Sorry, I don't think I can be much help. I'm in the chorus so I wasn't in rehearsal that day," she shrugged.

"Of course. But uh, did Max have any enemies? Anyone who held a grudge?" Dean asked. Vanessa raised an eyebrow; "In this business? It's impossible to know. There are the people who get jealous when you get a role, a gig, the fans who decide they prefer someone else's interpretation, the directors or conductors who just rubbed you the wrong way . . . as far as I know, lots of people really liked Max. He was one of the nicest people you could meet in this business."

"By which you mean, you can't think of any specific reason someone would want to kill him?" Sam asked tentatively. Vanessa and Alex exchanged confused looks.

"No!"  
"What?"

"Never mind. Standard question. Excuse us." Sam pulled Dean by the arm out of earshot.

"Dude, we can't let them keep rehearsing here. If this spirit just killed to kill, which means no motive, that makes it really hard for us to find out who this person used to be. The longer we wait, the more people are going to die."

"I know," Dean groaned, "We're gonna have to do some research. Your computer's in the car, right?"

"Yeah, I'll look some stuff up. You keep asking questions. See if anyone has a different consensus." Sam gave a small wave and jogged toward the exit.

"Hey, uh, my friend here said you're a detective on Max's murder?" Dean whirled around to see Alex standing with a different girl. He gave a cocky grin, held out his hand and said, "Detective Charles Beaumont."

"I'm Rachel," she replied.

"Do you mind if I ask you some questions, Rachel?"

"Not at all." She crossed her arms and looked at Dean expectantly.

"Had Max been acting at all strange in the last few days before his death?"

"I would say no, but he flew in that morning, so I guess in those few hours he seemed fine."

"Is there anything Max might have done to cause someone to hold a grudge against him?"

"I don't think so. Max was just the sweetest person." Rachel and Alex shared a quick nervous glance; "Look," Alex burst out, "we have a sort of theory, but it sounds totally crazy." Dean grinned; "Go for it. Crazy is my middle name."

"We think . . . we think that someone is copying the opera house ghost legend to ruin the reopening," Alex exclaimed.

"The reopening?"

"Well, yeah, the original New Orleans French Opera House burned down in the early 20th century. This building is brand new, this show is the grand reopening," Rachel replied.

"And the old building had this legend about a woman named Margurite, 'cause she was a big opera fan, y'know?" Alex pressed eagerly.

"And she apparently killed herself because her husband was having an affair with a younger woman, but her spirit came back to kill them both."

"But the official story is that the husband felt guilty and killed his lover and then himself," Alex interrupted, "And he died from a slit throat, which is how Max was killed!"

Dean stared at the girls in amazement. Ha! He had the research before Sam. Alex leaned over to Rachel and whispered, "I think he thinks we're nuts." Rachel muttered, "You think?" Dean fumbled to get his phone out of his pocket and dialed Sam.

"Sa- uhm, Emile! We have some new information on the case. What've you got?"

"Uh, well I just started looking, but there's this super famous legend about the old opera house before this new one was built-"

"About a ghost named Margurite? Killed herself over her husband's affair?"

"Y-yeah, and she came back as a spirit to kill the two of them. How'd you know?"

"I think this is our lead," Dean coughed and snuck a glance at the girls, who were eyeing him strangely; "Uh, right. Yeah. You know what to look for. Call me when you've got something." Hanging up, he turned to Rachel and Alex and said, "Ladies, thank you very much for your cooperation; you've been very helpful." As he brushed past them to make his way to the car, Alex called out, "Wait! Are you being serious, or are you just messing with us?" Dean twisted his face into a look of agony; "You wound me!" Assuming a normal expression, he said very simply, "You have helped. Really, seriously, you have no idea." He headed for the door, and as he crossed the threshold, he grinned at them over his shoulder and called out, "Thanks!"

Dean plopped into the car, slamming the door shut behind him. He grinned goofily at Sam, who was working on the computer. Sam closed the lid, and said, "Ok. I'll bite. Who told you?"

"Hot singer chick. Friends with that first girl, dark curly-haired one- Alex, yeah. Apparently they got it into their heads that there was a "ghost copycat" or something to sabotage the grand reopening of the building."

"Wow. That's . . . actually really smart." Sam nodded to himself, impressed.

"Well, here's the thing. I think one of us should hang out at the opera house, just in case of, uh, another attack." Dean waggled his eyebrows.

"Uh-huh. Sure. So, since I found the grave, that means you'll gladly go to burn and salt the body while I stand guard at the opera house, right?"

"Agh, Sammy! Hot opera singer chicks! Come on! Think how strong their abs'll be!" Sam scrunched his eyes shut and wrinkled his nose; "Ok, did not need to hear that from you. Look," he reasoned, eyes twinkling, "do you really want _me_ at the wheel of your car?" Sam held out the address. Dean groaned, and swiped it out of his hand. Sam grinned broadly as he clambered out of the car; "See ya, Dean."


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey, um, they're about to start up rehearsal soon, so I have to go. You're ok, right?" Rachel asked worriedly.

"I'll be fine. Heh. The show must go on," Alex smiled wryly. Rachel wrapped her arms around Alex and squeezed her tightly.

"Ok sweetie. Find me later." Rachel waved and reluctantly headed for the stage, looking, for the first time in all the years Alex had known her, as though a rehearsal was the last thing she wanted. Alex sighed and wandered aimlessly in the lobby; she didn't exactly feel up to working either.

Sam recognized her right away by her hair, which was large and curly and dark and impossible to miss. _And gorgeous,_ Sam found himself thinking. He caught her eye, flashed her a smile, and strode toward her with his hand outstretched.

"Hi, I'm, uh. . ." Sam fumbled; it was much harder to remember the fake names Dean thrust upon him when he was face-to-face with a pretty girl.

"Emile, yeah, I- I remember. Alex," Alex grinned and shook his hand, trying very hard not to blush in front of this very attractive man, "We talked just a minute ago."

"Yeah. Right, um . . . actually, uh, call me Sam, ok? It's, uh, my middle name, and I prefer it over Emile."

"Sure. Sam; yeah, it suits you." They both stood grinning stupidly at each other for what felt like forever. Finally Sam ducked his head and cleared his throat, snapping himself out of it.

"Well – Alex – I'm supposed to hang around and wait for my partner here while he, uh, does some digging. Is there a place I can hang out in?"

"Sure, I'll take you to the green room. I don't have to be at rehearsal, so I can stick around with you," Alex offered, cheeks flushed.

"Sounds great!" Sam fought to keep his smile from growing too wide, and distracted himself by asking, "So, are they seriously still going on with the show?"

"Yeah . . . I know, it makes us sound like terrible people, right?"

"No! No, of course not!"

"That's nice of you," Alex chuckled. She led him into the green room, which was actually designed completely in shades of red, and plopped onto a couch.

"So," Sam began, accidentally sitting a little closer to her than he'd intended, "opera, huh? How did that happen?"


End file.
